Goodbye Iris

 

 

Goodbye Iris

Mom’s iris thrived
in the dry
Eastern Colorado climate.
Here,
I fear,
they won’t survive.

This low spot
is the plot
with sun
but it floods.
Their feet stay wet
and rot.

Nothing
and no one
lasts forever.
We must adapt
when it no longer works
to persevere.

I hope she would understand –
I tried.
And though not with iris
there are a thousand 
other ways
I keep her memory alive.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2026 draft

 

 

Swimming Pool, August

 

Digging...or Cutting

 

After the Workmen Leave

 

Open

 

Ode to The Little Building

 

Six Strands

SIX STRANDS

I.
summertime clothesline
sun-bleached swimsuits and towels
functional design


II.
taming tough jute
	knot
after follow-the-diagram 
	knot
precisely forming each
	knot
every creation now
	lost
to time. Unraveled.


III.
Simplicity patterns and fabric on bolts –
Orth’s Department Store –
a place for dreaming.
Later, pinning pattern pieces –
cutting carefully –
no place for dreaming.


IV.
counting cross stitches
design emerges slowly
meticulously
time-lapse with needle and thread
if you follow the pattern


V.
The Conundrum of Patterns

They are everywhere.
They are beautiful.
They teach discipline.
They limit creativity.
They encourage innovation.
They connect us.
They are thread;
we are needles.


VI.
pull
one thread
at a time
to unravel
the apron string's knot --
a tangle of patterns,
precision, and perfection.
Examine each beautiful strand.
Make them into something wholly...you.


 

© Mary Lee Hahn, 2022 

Worn

 

this kitchen table

we are aging together

worn at the edges

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Housekeeping

 

illumination

sun shines through dirty windows

with no prejudice

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

The Women Who Made Me Who I Am

The women who made me who I am
     gave each other home perms
     led Cub Scout dens and Brownie Scout troops
     grew asparagus for the challenge of it
     ran the swimming pool and coached the swim team.

The women who made me who I am
     opened businesses
     drove tractors
     canned pickles
     read voraciously.

The women who made me who I am
     put meals on the table
     put kids to bed
     put petunias in the planter
     put family first.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019

High Plains Wind

Unsplash photo via Matthieu Joannon

High Plains Wind

     (after Wind by James Arthur)

     it's true sometimes I cannot

stop myself from lifting

     the roof shingles

unleashing tumbleweeds snapping

tree branches

muddying the pool I'm nothing

     until I happen

barreling down from the North

     filling eyes with grit

     nostrils too

pelting the streets with dusty sleet

above wheatfields

    surfing the waves of grain

so full of high excitement howling

I borrow the arid topsoil

     and fling it into the ditch

arriving with news of the bindweed

     and the horseflies

at times buffeting you so violently

in ways you register

     as fists

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018

I am blessed to live in a climate where we have day-long gentle rains that allow the oaks to tower and the corn to grow without irrigation. We are currently several inches over the average rainfall for the year, and yet in the High Dry Plains of Eastern Colorado, even an inch of our rain could save crops and livelihoods. It's desperately dry there, and the wind is unrelenting. When I read Wind by James Arthur, I knew I wanted to tell the story of a more savage and remorseless wind than his rascally wind whose antics include turning umbrellas inside out (I never owned one until I moved to the midwest), stealing hats, and embracing as light as a touch. The wind back home is downright mean-spirited and vengeful.

Missing Mom

my heart leans west

toward the home no longer there --

missing mom

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2017

Ornaments

box of ornaments --

felt, styrofoam, beads, ribbon --

still smells like Mom's house

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2017

Pomegranates

mom brought the whole world

to a rural farming town --

pomegranates

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2017

Gratitude List

Gratitude List

Praise be this morning for waking early,
tree crickets buzzing, the humid air,
the puffy clouds lined with pink first light.
Praise be my morning tea, steaming hot,
the cat underneath my feet,
the caterpillar on the sprig of dill
in a juice glass on the kitchen table.
Praise be these blueberries from Michigan,
this yogurt, thick and creamy,
from a local farm co-op. Praise be the basil,
sturdy and fragrant in the morning light,
and for the tall purple ironweed and the
goldenrod, both on the verge of blooming.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016




When the poem Gratitude List by Laura Foley showed up in my inbox via The Writer's Almanac, I knew I wanted to use it as a mentor text and paint a picture of a midwestern morning to mirror her ocean beach morning. It was a fun exercise and a good reminder that borrowing from another writer sometimes makes my own writing not just better, but possible on a day when I'm not sure I have anything to write about!


Gratitude List

Praise be this morning for sleeping late,
the sandy sheets, the ocean air,
the midnight storm that blew its waters in.
Praise be the morning swim, mid-tide,
the clear sands underneath our feet,
the dogs who leap into the waves,
their fur, sticky with salt,
the ball we throw again and again.
Praise be the green tea with honey,
the bread we dip in finest olive oil,
the eggs we fry. Praise be the reeds,
gold and pink in the summer light,
the sand between our toes,
our swimsuits, flapping in the breeze.


by Laura Foley (used with permission of the author)

Cleaning Dandelions Out of the Iris

free image from pixabay.com

Cleaning Dandelions Out of the Iris

Satisfying snap --
trowel cuts roots below ground.
They're bound to come back.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Homesick

Flickr Creative Commons Photo by SB

HOMESICK

The pears on the kitchen counter
are probably ripe by now,
and the basil in the raised bed
ready to be ground into another batch of pesto.

Perhaps the coneflowers and gayfeather have bloomed,
and certainly the morning glory vines
have locked the back gate.

But when I return, the afternoon sun will glow
through the west windows

as it always does.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Found Object Poem Project -- Home

Home

Sure, it's small,
but to us, it's cozy.

Yes, there's a lot of traffic here,
but, well, you get used to it.

It's kind of a mess,
but I'll tidy up just as soon as I get the chance.

What you can't see
is the perfection of light in the mornings.

You can't know
the lingering warmth in the early evenings.

And I'm sure you can't imagine
our view of the stars when the rest of the world is dark.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Driving Home

Flickr Creative Commons Photo by TumblingRun

tawny winter fields

setting sun throws long shadows

illuminates moon

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015

Sunset on the wide empty prairie: nothing but brown stretching in every direction as you drive across the plate; nothing but blue in the bowl of sky that sits inverted on that plate. And then the nearly full moon rises directly ahead of you in the east, framed by wind turbines. She is pale, but gathering brightness while the sun sets behind you. Moon enters the darkening blue, and the edges of the bowl where it rests on the plate are painted a fragile pink.

Haiku-a-Day

I have spent the month of July with Mom, getting her and her home of 60 years ready for her move to assisted living. Besides taking lots of photos, I saved a bit of time each day to take a snapshot in words. Here is a haiku-mosaic of July:


The move

1
the to-do list grows
fills heaping bowls of sadness
tears overflow

11
a childhood filled
with mother's sacrifices
daughter's turn now

21
shelves and shelves of books
multi-storied richness
wealth measured in words

26
going through dresser drawers
layers of memory
the archaeology of a life

two children
visitors at the museum
of their mother

an inveterate archivist
saver of minutiae
savoring each scrap of life

one more time

30
transplanting is tricky
handle roots with loving care
mix old soil with new




Meditations on the cycle of life and my place in it right now

9
midseason lily
surrounded by bud and wilt
enjoy it now

14
leaf breaks free
flutters away from tree
wind brings it back

Being in Eastern Colorado

4
ripening wheat
indiscriminate thunderheads
farmers remain hopeful

7
unseasonably cool
north breeze, low clouds, drizzle
roofer's gun pops

8
typically blue skies
smudged with a grimy haze --
Canada burns

19
antelope grazing --
uncharacteristically
green and lush prairie